The Bootmakers Cottage

My uncle Morty left Lauragh, in southern Ireland in 1936, at the age of 19, to experience life in London. Soon after arriving he wrote this poem then became seriously ill with suspected food poisoning spending many months in hospital. Whilst in hospital his brother, my Dad,(Michael) organised to collect his belongings from his temporary lodgings. Morty asked Dad had he seen the poem after his recovery but unfortunately the poem had vanished during the move. Dad then travelled to Australia and one day, found the long lost poem. On returning to Ireland in 1989, after being away for over 40 years he presented Morty with the poem who was delighted to have his cherished poem again! The painting 'The Bootmakers Cottage' was inspired by this poem and my visits to where these two men grew up and learnt their trade as cobblers.The small room to the right of the house is where the two men learn't their trade from their father.

'A Summer Survey of Lauragh'

'Sweet Lauragh glistening in the twilight morn, its' sparkling streams the rising sun adorns ;

Environed by the mountains everywhere, gave to the west, enchanting Kenmare's bay.

Its' mountain paths and fragrant woodland dales, clear lakes and rivers, where the anglers stray;

Wild thickets haunted by the buck and doe, unrivaled beauty everywhere we go.

No busy streets, the visitor finds there, but emerald fields and leafy winding lanes;

secluded glens and distant mountain caves, where eagles built their nests in bygone days.

Wild, narrow, rough, romantic shepherd's ripening golden gorse;

No sleek factitious art could ne'er augment the beauty lavished in those solar glens.



The cooling shades of fan-like trees - 'Deeren'. It's woodland paths, the nature lover's dream;

Wild rhododendrons aglow, amid the mass of blooming flowers along the sylvan paths.

Lush lawns of vivid green and shady bowers, reflected in the winding bay beneath;

And o'er the rustic arch of moorland bridge, the tangled wildwood and the golden fringe.



Meandering rivers gently gliding on, their grassy banks, the wild flowers trail along;

The pleasant scent of hay that is new-mown, and cattle sauntering o'er cream tinted loam.

How countless stalks do tremble, bend and sigh, when cooling zephrys now go whispering by;

And that sweet strain and symphony unchanged, is natures music "Breezes in the grain".



On yonder mountain, winding Healy's pass, with crimson-tinted summit "Croom Cnoc".

Bringing the smiling landscape nearer the eye, and Glenmore's lakes , serene, a rare delight.

The dim discovered peak of mountain 'rioch', with dazzling border in the shimmering heat;

Its' bosom robed in flowers and clustering palms, unfolds a picture of exquisite charm.

And no; at eve one suddenly beholds, those solemn glens profoundly alone;

For now the fast declining sun has gone, to lend enchantment to the vale beyond.

The glimmering landscape fading now from sight, and twilight shadows deepening into night;

When star filled sky and silvery moon unite, to brighten up that peaceful paradise. "
A poem by Morty O'Shea, 1936.

A poem by Morty O'Shea, 1936.

View Painting of the Bootmakers Cottage http://www.seanoshea.com.au